


Part of Your Mystery

by toesalignedarch



Series: Mystery Universe [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ethari is just along for the ride, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Runaan overthinks everything, Runaari, Tiadrin and Lain are chaotic, liberal use of the passive tense, ruthari, the literal briefest mention of Rayla, unabashed use of adoraburrs as a plot device (kind of), unapologetic use of em dashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesalignedarch/pseuds/toesalignedarch
Summary: Immediately all his senses were alert and any thoughts of playing with peers escaped his mind. For the first time all day, his mind was blissfully blank. With practiced ease, Runaan spun around, a dagger already in his unwavering hand. He had been trained for this; being of royal blood was a blessing and a curse, and while he’d diligently learned to defend against a variety of assassination attempts, he never thought that he would have to defend himself at age seven—“Whoa!”—against another child.Wait, what?(or, five times when Ethari made the first move, and one time when Runaan finally got his shit together)
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince), Runaan/Ethari
Series: Mystery Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601464
Comments: 20
Kudos: 175





	Part of Your Mystery

**I.**

For the third time that day, Runaan found himself situated on a guard’s shoulder like a limp sack of flour, her arm wrapped firmly around his waist to secure him. Despite his snarls, the guard ignored him until she unceremoniously deposited him at the doorstep of his home.

“Runaan,” she sighed, straightening out her shoulder pads. “We’ve been over this. You can’t—“

“I don’t see why I can’t,” the young elf retorted. Mimicking the guard, he also started to straighten out his coat, brushing imaginary dust— though in this case, the dust was entirely present— from his tunic. “I’m to be a leader of the Moonshadow elves, am I not? Why can’t I get to know my subjects—“

“Because we don’t call our fellow elves ‘subjects,’ for starters,” the guard interjected. She sighed again, and dropped to a squat. “Runaan, I know it’s hard to see all of the other children playing in the forest, but you must restrain yourself. You’re to be a role model for all Moonshadow elves soon, and you must act accordingly.”

Runaan glared at her.

“Ah,” she said with a soft smile, recognizing the look. “I see your hours of glowering in front of a mirror have paid off. I swear by the Moon, were I any lesser of an elf, I would be intimated beyond belief.” She gathered her cloak around her and stood up, her sheathed sword swinging from her hips. “Come, child. Why don’t we go over your lessons from this morning?”

He waited until she had disappeared through the door before impulsively sticking out his tongue at her retreating figure. She was right, of course, he knew that. But knowing she was right didn’t stop him from taking one last longing look at the forest, where he could see shadows of young elves frolicking and playing.

Runaan had only just grasped the handle of his front door when he heard someone behind him. Immediately all his senses were alert and any thoughts of playing with peers escaped his mind. For the first time all day, his mind was blissfully blank. With practiced ease, Runaan spun around, a dagger already in his unwavering hand. He had been trained for this; being of royal blood was a blessing and a curse, and while he’d diligently learned to defend against a variety of assassination attempts, he never thought that he would have to defend himself at age seven—

“Whoa!”

—against another child.

_Wait, what?_

He stared into wide amber eyes. A quick glance at his opponent—shocked expression, unbalanced stance, lack of weapons—revealed that this young elf was no threat at all. Out of an abundance of caution, Runaan lowered the dagger but did not place it back within his tunic. The other elf, whose face looked vaguely familiar, slowly lowered his hands, which had been raised in the universally acknowledged “I surrender” position.

“What?” Runaan barked. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a trained elf?”

“Sorry,” the elf said. He bowed ever so slightly though he kept his eyes on the dagger. “I’m Ethari.”

“Runaan.”

“Why aren’t you with the others in the forest?”

Drawing himself to his full height, Runaan said proudly, “because I’ve better things to do than roll around in the dirt.”

“I saw you get dragged away three times by that guard,” Ethari said matter-of-factly. “How come you don’t get to play with us?”

“I told you—“

“Right. Okay.” Ethari chewed on his inner lip. “Well, to me, it looked like you really wanted to play with the adoraburrs…”

“I did not!” Runaan hissed indignantly, hoping his practiced glare would stop Ethari from realizing how desperately he wanted to be a normal elf just once.

“Okay,” Ethari said unconvincingly. “I didn’t know royal elves weren’t allowed to have adoraburrs.”

Runaan sniffed. “We can. We merely choose not to,” he said, barely keeping his bitterness from seeping into his words.

“Oh. Well, just in case, then. Here.” Ethari extended his hand.

Before he could stop himself, Runaan reached out his own. Something soft and prickly landed in his palm. Bringing his hand closer to his face, Runaan watched as a turquoise adoraburr yawned and squeaked.

“It matches your eyes,” Ethari said softly.

Runaan looked up at him, speechless. “I—“

The door behind him slammed open. Ethari let out a single frightened “eep!” before bolting away.

“What in the name of the Moon is going on out here?” the guard demanded, rounding on Runaan. Taking note of his stunned expression, she immediately dropped to her knees, her peering brown eyes staring into his own. “Runaan, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I got…” His voice trailed off. He resorted to showing her the now sleeping adoraburr in his palm. “It matches my eyes,” he echoed.

**II.**

Runaan hadn't taken the road back to Silvergrove in many seasons, and yet he still remembered which turns led him to safety and which ones resulted in traps (a few of which he had helped set up himself, back when his initial stages of assassin training didn't require him to leave Silvergrove). The moon was bright, and he took it as a sign that his journey would be successful. Somewhere below him, a young deer glanced up as the branches above it trembled slightly, thought it couldn’t make out anything out of the ordinary. _Good_ , Runaan thought when the deer lowered its head again, _my illusion is holding._ As he leapt from branch to branch, relishing in the feeling of the wind in his hair (now down to the middle of his back in an immaculate braid), he wondered how much his home had changed in the past ten years.

He remembered the day he left vividly. Tiadrin, vocal as always, questioned his decision the entire way to the edge of Silvergrove.

"I don't see why you have to go," she huffed, dragging the quieter Lain behind her. Runaan merely rolled his eyes and ignored her.

"He's already told you," said a soft voice to his left. Ethari had also insisted on escorting the assassin trainee to the edge of the village. "He's got to train elsewhere so he can become the best assassin in all of Xadia!"

"But why does he have to leave?" Tiadrin insisted. Behind her, Lain started to say something but was effectively interrupted by the louder elf. "Can’t you stay just a bit longer? You're only ten, and—"

"And I'm already the best trainee in Silvergrove," Runaan finished smoothly. It wasn't a boast; it was true. He had risen to the top of the class in no time, his years of private tutoring clearly showed as he bested peer after peer. His archery was top notch, his sword-fighting skills were on point, and his strategies always ended in victories. He was a logical thinker who didn't let his emotions control him, a result of his childhood. "There's nothing else Silvergrove can offer me."

"But we're here," Tiadrin protested, breathing heavily. Runaan wasn't sure if her lack of breath was due to her indigence or the steep climb up the tree. Looking back, he made eye contact with Lain, who nodded, and looked at Ethari, who didn't meet his gaze. Clearly, his company of three agreed with her statement. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes—surely that would just upset them more, which would mean more talking, which would mean he would never leave on time—and let out a quiet sigh.

"I'll be back before you know it," he said, softening his tone. "It's just ten years."

"Exactly! _Ten years_! You'll have doubled in age by then! I can't believe—"

"Tiadrin, let it go." It was Ethari who reached out and placed a gentle hand on her shoulders. "He's made up his mind. You know how stubborn Runaan gets, nothing we say will make him stay. Right?" He looked at him with bright amber eyes. Runaan nodded stiffly, grateful that someone had finally stepped in to stop her complaining.

They'd reached the edge of the forest, where some three years ago Runaan had been dragged away from the playing children and the adoraburrs, and where Ethari approached him afterward to gift him one. (Ever the creative elf, Runaan named it Adoraburr and kept it for a long time, though he would never admit that to anyone). He glanced at his companions—had he been more sentimental he would've called them his friends—and bid his farewells. Tiadrin was holding back tears, Lain and Ethari comforting her quietly when he left without a backward glance.

The memory of his companions faded away. Adult Runaan rolled his eyes as he landed gingerly on his toes, silently standing up and taking in his surroundings. He had landed on the same branch on the same tree from ten years ago. The grooves on the branch were smoother than he remembered as he began to perform the ritual that would allow him to re-enter Silvergrove. Flowing between movements, watching the runes light up at his feet, Runaan felt a weight start to lift from his chest. Had he been worried about forgetting the ritual? Of course not. But the movements stored in his muscle memory—even though they felt slightly different now that he was taller and stronger—still brought him a sense of serenity.

When the veil of magic protecting Silvergrove accepted him, he was greeted with four moments of silence before a giddy shriek rippled through the air. Under the bright moonlight, Silvergrove was glowing with fire and stars. Elves dressed in their best cloaks were dancing in the center of the village as a band played traditional Moonshadow tunes, the music rekindling memories he had repressed for so long. Younger elves, holding torches and sweet frozen treats, dashed around the village in a game of tag. Of course—the Festival of the Autumn Moon was tonight. He didn't blame himself for forgetting, for assassin training didn't really recognize cultural holidays, but he did blame himself for losing control. He had taken another step toward the center of town when his attention drifted, effectively dropping his illusion. He barely noticed, however, until a single voice rose above the din.

"Runaan?"

Runaan winced. _Moon have mercy!_ He tried to disappear behind his illusion again, but it was too late. From across the dance floor he immediately spotted the elf that had shouted his name. All around her, other elves were pausing in their dance to stare up at the intruder who had so rudely interrupted the festivities. Even the band had stopped playing, the musicians frozen in place.

"Runaan?” The voice was louder now, shriller. “Is that you?"

The elf began sprinting toward him, pushing aside a sea of gaping elves. He recognized the way she moved—somehow she had maintained the same loping gait she had since she could walk. He braced himself for impact as Tiadrin ran towards him, her eyes bright and lips stretched into a wide grin.

It was like being tackled by a full grown banther. Only his training kept him upright when she barreled into him, arms wrapped in a tight embrace.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” she squealed into his traveling cloak.

"You've grown taller," he commented once she let go.

She punched his arm, still grinning. Clearly she had grown stronger, too. "Really, Runaan? Ten years you haven't seen me and that's the first thing you have to say?"

"What else can I say—"

"Runaan!" Lain was climbing onto the branch now, wearing a matching smile on his face. "By the Moon, you've not changed much, have you?"

"Lain," the assassin greeted, shaking his hand in a civilized greeting.

"We knew you were coming back soon," Tiadrin told him while she moved to stand next to Lain. "But we couldn't remember exactly which day. How lucky you are to have come back on the night of the Festival!"

Speaking of the Festival... Runaan looked past the two elves and was greeted with a shocked mass. Nearly all the elves in Shadowgrove were out and about and, as a result, nearly all the elves in Shadowgrove were now staring up at him. He recognized some of the faces vaguely—the elderly smith who forged his first sword, a tutor from his youth, one of the elves who worked behind the counter that served his favorite Moonberry Surprise—but no one said anything, or waved, or acknowledged that he was one of them. Following his gaze, Tiadrin and Lain turned to face the silent crowd.

"Oh," Tiadrin muttered. "Um..."

This was not how Runaan expected his homecoming to go. While he hated wasting time on daydreams, he couldn't help but think of a respectable reveal and warm welcome as he unveiled himself to the group of assassins he would be leading. He hadn't been expecting the Festival, hadn't expected everyone to be present, hadn't expected to lose control over his illusion, hadn't expected for it to slip...

The weight was settling back onto his shoulders, a knot tightening in his stomach. He'd only been in Silvergrove for less than a minute before he already failed. Beside him, Tiadrin and Lain were casting uneasy glances at each other. From the corner of his eye, Runaan caught movement—an elf was making their way through the crowd. He watched as they reached the band, whispered something, and slipped away. Runaan was already tracking the elf's movements when the band began to play again, this time an all-time favorite song that no elf could resist dancing to. Well, except for Runaan.

The tension in the crowd melted, the elves on the dance floor below immediately grabbing a partner to whirl around. Sounds of laughter and joy filled the air again, and the two elves before him let out small sighs of relief.

"May the Moon bless whoever got the band to start playing again," Tiadrin said with a laugh. Turning to Runaan, she teased, "congratulations, Runaan, you've finally managed to intimidate someone with your glare!"

He rolled his eyes, and immediately regretted it when he lost track of the elf. Where had they gone?

"An entire village's worth of someones," Lain added, slipping an arm around her shoulders with ease.

“Maybe next time you’ll manage to intimidate us!”

"Ah, leave him alone, you two," said another voice.

He didn’t even need to think about it. In an instant, Runaan had unsheathed one of his swords and pressed it up against the throat of the intruder.

"Runaan! Don't—"

"It's fine," said the new elf—the one who had approached the band—the only sign of alarm in the form of his eyes. Wide amber eyes. "I should be pretty used to this."

Runaan let the tip of his sword fall, taking in the shaggy white hair and muscular build. "Ethari?"

The elf bent in a sweeping bow. "At your service," he rumbled. When he straightened, casting a wary glance at the still-unsheathed sword, Ethari smiled. "You looked so uncomfortable up here, and those two weren't going to do anything"— "Not true," Tiadrin objected loudly—"so I took matters into my own hands."

Hands. Ethari’s hands were calloused, attached to strong forearms and toned biceps protruding from his sleeveless tunic—the sign of a hard worker. The scent of metal and fire was emanating from him as Ethari bickered with Tiadrin and Lain. It was obvious someone had completed his apprenticeship in the forge.

The band finished its song with a flourish to wild applause and cheers. The mass of elves below shifted and moved, some walking off to enjoy refreshments from a long line of vendors, while others grouped together in lively conversation. No one seemed to be paying him any attention anymore. Thank the Moon.

"You owe me one now, Runaan," said Ethari, drawing the assassin's attention. He couldn't help it; Ethari's voice had deepened nicely and though he spoke gently, Runaan could tell he could hold the attention of the entire village if he wanted to.

Runaan scoffed. "I owe you nothing."

"Oh, so you had your own idea on how to get everyone to stop staring at you then?" Ethari crossed his arms but there was a twinkle in his eye.

"I could have handled it myself."

"By doing what? You can't possibly kill everyone just for staring at you? I thought there was an assassin's code of honor, isn’t there something about not murdering innocent elves?"

“Don’t be foolish. I—“

"Oh, give it up Runaan," Tiadrin interrupted. Next to her, his arm still around her shoulders, Lain snickered. "Yes, you look scary with your assassin's armor and fancy sword, but let's be honest now. If it weren't for Ethari you'd still be standing there with all of Silvergrove watching you."

Runaan rolled his eyes. She was right, but she didn't have to know that.

“Plus,” added Lain, “Ethari finally grew a spine a few years back and he’s gotten much more stubborn.” Ethari winked at him as if to say "humor me."

"Fine. How may I repay this debt?"

The band started another lively song and a rush of elves cascaded into the center of the village. He caught Ethari's gaze and his heart skipped a beat when the other elf smirked.

"How about a dance?"

**III.**

He was staring intently at Tiadrin and Lain from across the reflecting pool, his whetstone and sword forgotten on his lap. Ever since he arrived in Silvergrove they were acting... weird. More often than not Lain had his arm around her shoulder, or she had an arm around his waist. Or they were sitting so closely it couldn't have been comfortable, even if there was plenty of space around them. Or they were playing with each other's hair—Runaan suppressed a shudder; just the thought of someone casually touching his hair was enough to make his skin crawl. He'd been tracking their behavior for the past few months but hadn't come to a logical conclusion yet.

"What have they done this time?"

Runaan looked away from his research toward his companion. Ethari, perched on the stone rim of the pool, had his head tilted curiously. At the assassin's raised eyebrow, he clarified, "you look like you're contemplating how best to dispose of them. What have they done now?"

"I’m not planning to 'dispose' of them."

"Right. That's why you're glaring at them and sharpening your sword."

The corner of his lips twitched. "Tiadrin and Lain have been acting strangely," he admitted, gesturing toward the elves with a tilt of his head.

"Uh oh. Really?"

Runaan nodded.

"Moon have mercy. Hm. I actually thought their courtship was going rather well—"

He nearly sliced off the tip of his finger. "Courtship?"

Ethari narrowed his eyes at him. "Yes?" he said, uncertain if Runaan was joking. "It's obvious?"

In retrospect, perhaps it was. But there hadn't been any courtship or declarations of love during assassin training, so how was he supposed to recognize the signs? Yet even as he watched, Tiadrin pulled Lain into a loose embrace, pressing their foreheads together in a tender touch. Oh. His facial expression must have changed, because Ethari laughed.

"Did you really not know?"

"I thought it was odd," Runaan murmured.

"You're the smartest friend I have, and yet you can't even figure out that two of your best friends are pursuing a relationship." Ethari leaned closer and flicked the tip of Runaan's horn. "How did you even become leader of the assassins, hm?"

Runaan ignored him, choosing to slide the whetstone across his blade instead. Ethari merely chuckled.

Ethari had called him a _friend_. It was hard to ignore the knot in his stomach as the smith’s words registered. Were they friends? Tiadrin and Lain were his friends, he supposed, because he enjoyed their company even if Tiadrin was too talkative and Lain liked to steal his sword from him.

But Ethari... He'd felt the broad shoulders during their dance at the Festival all those weeks ago, smelled the forge lingering on his robes even after they parted, swooned— he'd deny this if anyone ever asked, of course— in his arms when Ethari dipped him. There was no denying it: Runaan enjoyed Ethari's company. The elf had a way of seeing the world that made even the most mundane objects come to life. There was something about his rumbling voice that Runaan couldn't help but listen for even when he wasn't in earshot. The assassin often found himself thinking of Ethari in his free time: what was he doing, where was he, what was he up to? After returning from one particularly grueling mission where he didn't sleep for three days, Runaan had automatically walked up to the forge to check on Ethari before he realized what he was doing.

Ethari was still watching the couple, a soft smile hovering on his lips. Runaan let his eyes wander over the shaggy white hair, the broad shoulders, the strong arms... he'd be a fool to deny his attraction to Ethari. (He had come to terms with this on his own, once he realized he knew how much molten metal Ethari could pick up with one arm and, by comparison, didn't even know how tall Lain was). But Ethari had called him a friend... Across the pool Lain and Tiadrin settled onto a boulder, talking idly with their hands intertwined. Friends didn't do... that. Friends respected each other's physical boundaries. (Even if Runaan didn't want him to).

"How long have they been courting?"

Ethari hummed. "A bit longer than a year, I think. I'm glad they finally figured things out, I was getting tired of being the middle-elf."

"Middle-elf?"

"The go-between, the wingman," Ethari explained. "It was obvious they were both interested in pursuing each other—well, obvious to me anyway—so one day when I was walking alone with Lain I asked if he would ever officially court her. I became his confidant, of sorts. And when Tiadrin came running to me because Lain had gifted her a shard of moon opal without declaring his intentions, I became her advisor as well." The elf sighed wistfully. "It was sweet, of course, but Moon above, they walked in circles around each other. I did eventually convince Tiadrin to speak candidly with Lain, and here we are."

"A lot has changed since I was last here," Runaan said quietly.

Ethari hummed in agreement. "Lots of new courtships in the past ten years.” He paused. “What about you, Runaan?"

Slightly taken aback, it took Runaan a few moments to collect himself. "Hard to think of such frivolous things when one is training to become an assassin," he said pointedly.

Ethari nodded vigorously. "Right, right. That makes sense."

A hazy silence fell over them. In the distance, Tiadrin groaned at something Lain had said—a bad joke, possibly, given his mischievous grin. She moved to flick his horns and he intercepted, a firm grasp on her wrist as they wrestled.

"And yourself?" Runaan prided himself in how steady his voice was.

"Ha," Ethari chuckled. "No, nothing for me."

"Nothing?" He couldn't help prying slightly. An elf as kind, selfless, and handsome as Ethari couldn't have gone uncourted all these years.

"Nothing." The tips of Ethari's ears darkened. "Of my own choice," he added hastily.

“What, no elf in Silvergrove was good enough for you?"

"Well, yeah," Ethari admitted. "That was the gist of it."

Oh. Runaan let out a soft sigh. The hurricane of thoughts was crowding his mind. Closing his eyes, Runaan took several deep breaths. Acknowledge it, and let it go. Acknowledge it: he... he wanted to be more than friends but the feeling was clearly not reciprocated. Let it go: with a strong exhale, he tried to remove all extraneous thoughts of Ethari from his mind. (It didn’t work).

"Are you meditating?"

Runaan cracked open an eye. "I was," he said flatly, shutting his eyes against Ethari's stunning amber gaze. 

"Right. Well, Tiadrin and Lain just left."

"And?"

"And... it's just the two of us now."

Runaan swallowed. With one last exhale, he opened his eyes. Ethari was facing him, though his eyes were downcast, fiddling with blades of grass by his feet. Tiadrin and Lain were nowhere to be seen. "And?"

"And, uh…" Ethari trailed off, his fingers now pulling chunks of grass from the earth. He wouldn't meet his gaze, but Runaan could spot the lightest dusting of pink on the other elf's cheeks.

 _He's uncomfortable_ , Runaan realized with a jolt. _We're two grown elves alone in a secluded area, what would Silvergrove think?_ He stood abruptly, startling Ethari into looking at him.

"I'll head back," he announced, hastily pocketing the whetstone and tucking his sword beneath his arm.

"What?"

"I have… things to do."

"Oh." Ethari's brows furrowed, but Runaan saw through the act—surely he was relieved that Runaan was sparing him any awkward interactions and potential rumors. "Okay. I'll walk back with you?"

"No, no need. I'm capable of walking back myself." Moon above, Ethari was generous. _Too generous_ , Runaan thought angrily. _I've made him uncomfortable and yet he still tries to comfort me_.

Without a backward glance, Runaan marched back toward the village.

***

He hadn't meant to stay up this late. The first rays of the sunrise were stretched over the sky when Runaan finally left the library. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he let his muscle memory take over, his mind preoccupied with the research he had been doing for one of his missions. A Skywing elf had sent a message reporting that a dark human mage had snuck into Xadia and was wreaking havoc. While no elf had seen the mage, traces and evidence of dark magic were constantly being unearthed—skeletons, blood, and man-made objects. Runaan could feel himself scowling as he pushed open the door to his home; humans were decidedly the worst species to ever exist. They killed without mercy and reason, and expected Xadians to turn a blind eye. It was unacceptable, dishonorable—

"Runaan?"

He blinked. "Ethari?" The elf in question merely raised a curious eyebrow. "What are you doing in my home?"

Ethari chuckled. "Your home, Runaan? Have you come to replace me here in the forge?"

Ah, that explained why it was so warm. Cursing his feet for automatically steering him to Ethari, he rubbed his eyes again. "My apologies. It appears I've walked the wrong path."

"It's fine," Ethari said with a smile. He wiped his hands on his tunic. "Why are you up so early?"

Runaan bit out a bitter laugh. "As if. I have yet to sleep."

"Moon have mercy! Why?"

"Research." There was a chair in the corner of the forge across from the fire, and he barely managed to settle into it before his legs gave out. Had his eyelids always been so heavy? "Have a mission."

Ethari clicked his tongue. By the sounds of tinkering metal, he must have resumed whatever he had been working on before Runaan barged in. "You? On a mission? In this state? I should hope not."

"I leave tomorrow."

The clinking paused. "You leave tomorrow," Ethari echoed hollowly.

"Hm."

There was the rustle of paper and some unidentifiable thumps. "What’re they sending you on this one for?"

Runaan stifled a yawn with his hand, his eyes still glued shut. "Dark mage," he said, aware and uncaring that his words were beginning to slur together. "Wreaking havoc by the Xadian border."

Footsteps approached. A shadow fell over him. Prying one eye open, Runaan blinked lethargically into a scrutinizing amber stare.

"Runaan," Ethari chided. "You're in no condition to track down a dark mage right now." He paused and pursed his lips. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more urgent. "If they're sending _you_ on a mission... this mage, he's more dangerous than the rest, is he?"

" _She_ is," Runaan confirmed. "But I'm perfectly capable—"

"Any other time I would agree," Ethari said. Runaan couldn't even bring himself to scowl at him for interrupting. "But you can't even keep your eyes open. You may think me a fool, Runaan, but even I can see this is more than missing one night of sleep. How long has it been since you've rested?"

Runaan shrugged. "It's none of your concern."

"It _is_ my concern," the craftsman countered hotly, "because going on a mission against a dangerous dark mage in this state is guaranteed death!"

The assassin scowled darkly. "Are you implying you don't think I can finish the mission?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Ethari said softly, the anger from before dissipating quickly. He heaved a heavy sigh and waved an arm vaguely in the air. "Fine. Tonight it was research. What about all the previous nights? Why have you been staying up?"

Sleep deprived and exhausted, Runaan could see no reason to lie to Ethari anymore. "I've been training. Working on my reflexes, drawing my sword faster, deflecting spells. The Skywing scout’s report says that this dark mage moves faster than any other human they’ve ever encountered. That's why she's such a threat."

Ethari cursed under his breath.

"Don't worry. I'm not the leader of assassins for nothing." There was something about Ethari's concern that was injecting a last bit of strength back into Runaan's body. If he could pretend he was fine, perhaps the smith wouldn't be so worried. With a grunt, Runaan stood up."I apologize again for intruding. I'll leave you be."

He felt Ethari's stare follow him out the door.

***

Runaan was just about to step out of his home when he caught sight of Ethari running through Silvergrove, deftly avoiding the gnarly tree roots and puddles on the ground. Though he had a schedule to keep, his curiosity held him in place. By the time Ethari reached him, the elf was panting.

"Hi, Runaan," he gasped between breaths.

"Good morning," Runaan greeted. He watched, amused, as the smith leaned heavily on his knees.

"I see that you're feeling better. I'm glad I caught you before you left." From beneath his cloak Ethari produced a bundle wrapped in scraps of fabric. "Here. For your mission." With a loud clunk, the bundle was dumped into Runaan's hands.

"What's this?" he asked, already untangling the scraps.

"New invention of mine," Ethari said. The elf straightened and watched eagerly as Runaan picked out the gift from its wrapping: two swords, each with razor sharp curved blades; a perfect mirror set. They looked and felt nearly identical to his own sword; that he could lift both swords in one hand was a new but impressive touch. Although he didn't need a new sword and he wasn't sure where he would put these new ones, back up weapons were always helpful in the long run.

"Thank you." Runaan made to turn away.

A warm hand landed upon his wrist. He looked up, startled, and Ethari immediately let go. Runaan hoped his blush wasn't as obvious as Ethari's. _He blushes so easily_ , Runaan noted.

"Sorry," the other elf said hastily. "There's actually more."

Setting the matching swords gently at his feet, Runaan rifled through the cloth again. This time he came up with a quiver of arrows. From a single glance he could tell they were incredibly crafted—the shafts were straight, their tips sharpened to lethal points. Two swords and a quiver of arrows... he wasn't sure how they were related and wasn't sure if two swords and an arrow were worth delaying his journey for, but he appreciated the gift all the same.

"Thank you for the swords and the arrows.” Runaan started to leave before one of Ethari’s earlier words sunk in. He turned back to face the smith, who looked torn over some internal conflict. “New invention, you said? Ethari, you're a brilliant craftsman but you can hardly take credit for inventing swords and arrows—"

Almost as if he couldn't help himself, Ethari grabbed the swords from his grip. With one in each hand, he tapped the ends together gently. The handles began to glow—the soft blue aura of interwoven magic—and instantaneously a string connected the tips of the blades. Ethari grinned and handed the swords—no, a _bow_ —back to him.

"Turns into a bow and back in no time," he explained as Runaan blinked at the bowblade in awe. "You said the dark mage is fast, right? And that you were working on drawing your weapon faster? Well. Now you can wear your weapons on you"—he stepped forward, grasped the bow in his hand, and gingerly lowered it onto Runaan so that it rested on one shoulder—"and you can access it at any time. It's enchanted to stay in whichever form you want it in, so don't worry about it turning into a bow in the middle of a sword fight. Now you'll be able to move faster, too, since you won't need to carry both your sword and your bow."

Runaan could feel the warmth of Ethari's body emanating so close to his own. It was distracting, much to his chagrin. He swallowed. "You made this?"

"Yeah." Ethari smiled sheepishly, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck. "I actually came up with the idea a while back, but never had an excuse to make it until now."

"Make it until now—you made this overnight?" Runaan could get lost in those amber eyes.

"What's one sleepless night to your sleepless week?"Ethari laughed lightly. “Whatever it takes to keep a friend safe.”

The assassin looked down at the bow now resting across his chest. No one had ever given him such a grand gift before. Nor such a personal gift. _He made this for me_ , Runaan thought _. He listened to me, learned what I needed, and he made it just for me._ He could feel heat rising to the tips of his ears, though whether it was from the gift or Ethari's proximity he wasn't sure. (It was both).

"I've no words," he muttered finally. He couldn’t stop tracing the grooves of the handles, the tips of his fingers following the inlaid swirls.

"Do you like it?"

"Ethari, it's... it's brilliant. How can I repay you?"

"Just..." Ethari moved slowly, giving Runaan every opportunity to back away. He raised his arm to the side of the assassin's head, toying with a lock of bright white hair in a touch so delicate Runaan was certain he was dreaming. The same hand traced upward and gently stroked the tip of his horn. "Come back to me in one piece," Ethari whispered.

Runaan closed his eyes and leaned into his touch before he could even think to resist _. Just one moment of indulgence_ , he promised himself.

"I'll do my best."

**IV.**

It hadn't taken much time for the news to spread: Ethari stayed up all night forging a new weapon for someone. A _secret_ weapon, seeing as the craftsman refused to name the recipient. A secret weapon that was also apparently a gift of courtship, given how furiously the elf blushed when someone blindly guessed that Ethari had fallen in love. The more gossip-prone elves spent the next few days discreetly (and, in at least one instance, explicitly) examining everyone's weapons but to no avail—it seemed the weapon in question, whatever it was, had vanished.

Tiadrin and Lain, however, knew better.

"Don't worry," Tiadrin was saying to Ethari, who was anxiously re-organizing his workspace. They were the only ones in the forge, a welcome reprieve from Silvergrove's growing interest in his day-to-day activities and interactions. He was safe with Tiadrin and Lain; there was talk that they were to be engaged soon. Surely the other elves knew he wouldn’t try to break them apart. "Runaan's a skilled fighter and a resourceful assassin. I'm sure he's fine."

"It's been four days," Ethari muttered. Four days of restless sleep—was Runaan okay? Was the bowblade holding up? What if he'd made a mistake when he was enchanting them, what if he forgot to attach the blades to the handles, what if Runaan was hurt because of his inability to craft, _what if_? Four days of misery and waiting.

"We know," Lain said soothingly. He walked over to the workbench and patted Ethari reassuringly on the shoulder. "He's our friend too."

"Come on. You've seen Runaan train, you know he's the best." Tiadrin was putting on a good show of confidence, but Ethari could see her glance occasionally out the window as if the assassin was going to appear any minute. "And he's got your _secret weapon of love_ so you know extra well he's in good hands."

A blush blossomed on Ethari's cheeks despite his nervousness. Lain and Tiadrin shared a glance and a soft smile.

"Will you ever court him?" Lain asked after a moment.

"I... don't know," Ethari said solemnly. "I've expressed interest, but he hasn't exactly reciprocated—"

"That's because our dear Runaan is an idiot," interjected Tiadrin. "We say this because we love him, but he's hopeless when it comes to emotions and feelings. I'm pretty sure he does have them, but he's been trained to not show them. He thinks of them as a vulnerability and a weakness.”

Ethari's mind flashed to his last interaction with the assassin—Runaan had closed his eyes and leaned ever so slightly into his touch. He had looked so vulnerable (for any elf, let alone the cold assassin leader) that Ethari knew in an instant he would give anything to spend more time with Runaan.

“He did let you touch his hair though,” Lain was pointing out.

“So?”

“So Runaan would rather cut off his own arm than let strangers touch his hair.”

“But I’m not a stranger.” He ignored Lain’s knowing smirk.

Tiadrin sighed impatiently. “You don't get how significant it is. Even we”—she motioned at herself and her partner—“aren’t allowed to touch his hair.”

"Trust us," Lain said. "You've got to speak with him. _Candidly_."

Ethari narrowed his eyes at the other elf, who merely snickered. Leave it up to Lain to throw his own advice back at him.

"You're on the right track, though," Tiadrin teased. "If you're trying to romance him, all you need to do is keep gifting him secret weapons of love."

"Secret weapons of love?"

The reaction was instantaneous: Tiadrin shrieked and toppled from her perch on the window sill, Lain jumped to his feet with the first thing he could grab—in this case, a pair of tweezers Ethari had been using to set gemstones earlier—raised above his head in a defensive stance, and Ethari could only stare.

Runaan had seen better days. His long hair was a tangled knot so frizzy that he seemed to be surrounded by a white halo (he also seemed to have received an impromptu haircut, as one lock of white hair was substantially shorter than the rest as it dangled over his forehead). His arm was a gallery of cuts and bruises; there was a particularly nasty cut on his upper thigh, and the bottom half of his cloak was shredded. But his turquoise eyes were bright (if not a little perplexed) and his bowblade was still intact, hung around his chest.

"Runaan!" Tiadrin was the first to recover, launching herself at him. He let out a loud hiss when she made contact and she immediately relaxed into a looser hug. She was murmuring something to him and he was responding in a voice too low for Ethari to comprehend. Lain walked up next, clapping the assassin on the shoulder despite Runaan's wince. Then the turquoise eyes flicked to Ethari.

"What’s this about a secret weapon of love?" Runaan asked hoarsely.

Tiadrin and Lain shared a mischievous look.

“Oh, you mean that bowblade you’ve got there?” said Tiadrin in a conversational tone.

Ethari groaned while Runaan blinked at the weapon strapped across his chest. “This…?”

"We have things," chirped Tiadrin into the silence; "Things to do," cackled Lain. In a flash, they were gone.

Runaan merely arched an eyebrow at their sudden disappearance as if it weren't an uncommon occurrence. The turquoise eyes were back on him before he knew it.

“Hi,” Ethari managed to croak. “You’re alive.”

“I did promise to do my best,” Runaan replied. He walked into the forge with a barely noticeable limp, closing the door behind him.

“How was the mission?”

“Successful, seeing as I’m standing before you.”

“Oh. Um, that’s good.”

“Mm,” Runaan hummed, stepping closer and closer to Ethari’s workbench.

“Uh,” said Ethari intelligently, floundering for words in the silence. “How were the swords?”

“This? The secret, labor of love bowblade? Fantastic.” Runaan was still making his way toward him, carefully avoiding the metal scraps and loose parts Ethari had tossed around during his so-called re-organization of the forge. “Incredible craftsmanship. Did you also enchant the bow?”

“A rune for accuracy,” Ethari said, relieved to be talking about something he knew and was comfortable with. “It won’t help if you’re a bad shot, but it’ll help with little adjustments.”

“I noticed.” Runaan stopped at the the other side of the work bench. Ethari could make out more cuts and bruises; subconsciously he lifted a hand and pressed gingerly on a faint bruise on Runaan’s cheek. When the assassin didn’t flinch away, he grew bolder.

“You should get to a healer,” Ethari murmured, tracing a cut down his neck with the tip of a finger.

“I will. Later.” A faint blush was rising on his cheeks and Ethari thanked the Moon he was close enough to witness it. _The unflappable Runaan, blushing because of me?_ “I actually wanted to speak with you about this”—the assassin glanced down at his bowblade—“so-called secret weapon of love.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“I’ve wanted to speak with you too, a-about the bowblade,” Ethari said hastily before he lost his nerve. “It’s nothing urgent,” he added at Runaan’s slightly surprised expression. “Just for the record. It doesn’t have to be right now. You should go to the healer—”

“Well.” Runaan pulled up a chair and sat across from the craftsman. “Why not now? Have you somewhere to be?”

“No...”

“Then seeing as we want to talk about the same thing, we might as well do it now. The healer can wait. None of these are fatal.”

 _Oh Moon above, he wants to talk about the same thing,_ Ethari panicked internally. _How did he figure out the bowblade was meant to be a gift of courtship? Is he here to return it? Moon have mercy, I must be honest with him. Okay. Here goes nothing._

“Runaan, I would like to court you,” Ethari blurted at the same instance Runaan said, “I have some suggestions on how to improve your design.”

_What?_

“What?” echoed Runaan, whose expression had gone from perplexed to shocked to blank in a matter of moments.

“Ha, ha,” Ethari laughed maniacally, wringing his hands. “Um! Nothing! I—”

“You would like to _court_ me?”

“Er…”

Runaan was silent, looking expectantly at him. Right. He took a deep breath; Runaan had heard him. There was nothing left to hide.

“Runaan,” he began, his voice wavering only slightly. “I wanted to speak with you about the bowblade because I must be honest with you. I gifted you the bowblade under the guise of friendship, but what I truly intended was for it to be a gift of courtship. I apologize for the deceit, I was afraid you would reject my advances and I was too cowardly to tell you. You’re a handsome elf, Runaan, a fearless leader and an honorable assassin. Not to mention a beautiful dancer. Surely there must be better elves than me fighting for your hand, but.” He coughed once, well aware of Runaan’s burning eyes on him. “I’m usually good at reading elves’ emotions, but you’re a mystery to me.” Ethari chanced a glance at the assassin—his face revealed nothing—and in a bold move grabbed his right hand. “I’d like to be a part of your mystery, Runaan.”

In the following moments of loaded silence, Ethari began to count his blessings. One, he was finally holding Runaan’s hand and the professional assassin wasn’t immediately dismembering him. That was good. Two, Runaan hadn’t rejected him. Yet. Three…

“Moon above,” he watched Runaan whisper. Turquoise eyes sought amber ones, boring deep into his soul. “You genuinely want to pursue a relationship with me?”

“Yes,” replied Ethari with as much sincerity as he could muster.

“Moon above,” Runaan repeated faintly. Ethari could see his mind racing as his brows furrowed slightly. “And I thought your secret weapon of love was just a labor of love.”

“Runaan, please,” he pleaded softly. “I normally have all the patience in Xadia but on this one thing alone I need an answer.”

That snapped Runaan back to the present. His eyes suddenly cleared of any haze and—could it be?— a hint of a smile appeared on the corner of his lips.

“I accept,” Runaan said gently, and traced a finger over the markings on Ethari’s cheek.

**V.**

Ethari knew his partner despised extraneous attention. It wasn’t that he didn’t like being in charge—in fact, Runaan was almost always leading something, whether it was training or sparring or even cooking dinner together. It was more of the gossip-type, finger-pointing, whispering-behind-hands kind of attention he hated. He also had very strict definitions of boundaries: there were things that could be done in private, and things not to be done in public. Combined, it meant that their courtship was, for the time being, a secret from the other elves (except Tiadin and Lain, who had been hiding behind a nearby tree when Runaan accepted his proposal). It drove Ethari mad that he couldn’t hold his prickly assassin’s hand when they walked to the market or even wipe the smudge of Moonberry Surprise from the corner of his lips when they ventured out for a meal. But he was happy to be with Runaan, and he was happy to take things slow. His partner was nothing if not traditional and a stickler for customs, no matter how outdated Ethari thought they were.

Their first dinner together was at Ethari’s home, a modest structure built into the side of a strong Xadian oak. Compared to Runaan’s home, Ethari’s was warmly decorated with drawings of inventions, portraits of friends and family, and souvenirs from his travels (including a batch of dried purple flowers pressed against two panes of glass). Much to Runaan’s surprise—and delight—there was a sketch of him, Ethari, Tiadrin, and Lain hanging on the wall.

In an effort to impress Runaan, Ethari had outdone himself. By the time the assassin knocked on the door, the smith had adorned his home with floating orbs of light that cast friendly shadows all around. On the table was a vase of fresh flowers and a pitcher of Moonberry juice, along with two mugs that Ethari had custom made for the occasion. Dinner—a simple meal of roasted vegetables, rice, and Moonberry Surprise—was accompanied with flowing conversation. Ethari found himself enchanted by the elf across from him, whose stoic nature melted as the evening passed, revealing a witty, dry, and fiery elf beneath the icy exterior. He was enraptured by the stories of Runaan’s travels from his various missions, encouraging the typically reserved elf to expand on the various cultures, cuisines, and styles. The evening concluded with a few lingering touches on each other’s arms, and a prolonged goodbye at the door.

Their second outing together was at the reflecting pool, where the couple took advantage of the secluded setting to discuss more serious matters. It was here that Ethari learned about Runaan’s enthusiasm for setting boundaries in addition to his childhood dreams. In turn, he told Runaan about his own aspirations to run his own forge so that he could spend all of his time doing what he loved.

“I can be a bit forgetful sometimes,” Ethari told him, sitting so close that their shoulders were nearly touching. “Since we’re being truthful and all.”

“You just have too many ideas tumbling in that mind of yours,” Runaan responded. “You start to work on one, then think of another and neglect the first. Have you ever thought to write them down as they come to you, rather than waiting for later?” Ethari had not, and made a mental note to procure a new journal by the next day.

“I can be harsh,” Runaan told him. “I need to be able to make hard decisions at a moment’s notice, and I don’t have the time to entertain frivolous words.”

“But you’re not always in the middle of a fight,” Ethari responded. “You don’t always have to be direct if you don’t want to be. We can work on it together. Though I do rather like how straightforward you are when you speak, there are no hidden meanings and secret riddles behind your words.”

So captivated were they by the conversation and each other, the couple only returned to Silvergrove when the moon began to rise over the tree line. They departed with gentle caresses on cheeks and light touches on locks of hair.

Their third meeting together included Tiadrin and Lain. It had been Ethari’s suggestion to invite the other couple for a meal together. Runaan had offered his own home as it was larger and more accommodating to a rowdier group, and Ethari eagerly accepted. (“Don’t worry, I’ll bring extra chairs,” Ethari assured his partner when Runaan brought up he only owned two chairs).

Runaan’s home, in contrast to his own, was starkly decorated. Other than the usual furniture and a single mirror on the wall there was practically nothing else to indicate that an elf lived here, except for what looked like a bandana hanging from a hook on the wall next to the bowblade. Upon closer examination, Ethari delightedly realized that the bandana was actually the haphazardly-sewn-together scrap of cloth he had used to wrap the “secret weapon of love” in the first place.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” he muttered, admiring the pristine condition of the cloth. Especially juxtaposed with the bowblade, which now sported much evidence of its frequent use despite Runaan’s constant cleaning and polishing, the cloth showed not a single loose thread.

“It was the first gift you ever gave me.” Runaan moved to stand behind him, his proximity sending a blush to the tip of the craftsman’s ears. “How could I _not_ keep it?”

Dinner with Tiadrin and Lain was entertaining as always. The evening was filled with plenty of bickering, the alliances changing with every subject. Tiadrin and Lain stubbornly refused to admit that the Moonberry Surprise from the eastern vendor was the best in town, while Runaan and Tiadrin both agreed that wearing armor around in casual settings wasn’t _that_ strange. Ethari found himself siding with Tiadrin when the topic of meeting new elves came up—“but come on, Lain, isn’t it exciting to meet someone new?” “Absolutely not. It’s exhausting”— and stood firmly with Lain when their combat-prone partners refused to admit that wearing armor to the market was ridiculous.

Throughout the evening Ethari was acutely aware of how the other couple interacted. Even as they sat at the table, Tiadrin had propped her legs up in Lain’s lap while he toyed with the ends of her hair. On the other side, Ethari and Runaan sat separately; far enough apart to respect Runaan’s physical boundaries, but close enough to indicate their togetherness. By the night’s end, Ethari found himself subconsciously reaching for Runaan’s hand, or his hair, or his horns. He couldn’t help it; watching Tiadrin and Lain interact so openly (they had even kissed— _kissed_!— in front of them) had awoken a longing he hadn’t realized he was harboring. So when he and Runaan bid them good night, Ethari became determined.

As they began to clean up the earthenware from dinner, Ethari began to think. He would not (could not and should not) attempt to surprise his partner—that would surely end with his accidental but definitely deserved dismemberment. Runaan liked clear communication, but would that ruin the mood? One glance at the elf in question and Ethari knew it didn’t really matter. He was horns over heels for him anyway.

“Runaan?”

“Yes, moonlight?”

Ethari set down the bowls he had been holding in his arms. Walking around the dinner table, he stopped right in front of his partner. Slowly, giving him every chance to back away, Ethari raised his hand and cradled the side of his face, his thumbs gently tracing the edges of the marks on Runaan’s nose.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he murmured. “May I?”

He couldn’t help let out a breathy laugh when he watched Runaan’s eyes widen slightly.

“Are you laughing at me?” Runaan demanded playfully, stepping forward, a hand coming to rest on his hips.

“Never, my heart,” Ethari said. “Always laughing with you.”

Runaan lifted his other hand to the back of Ethari’s head, pressing their foreheads together. “Yes,” he whispered. “You may.”

That night Ethari learned that the best Moonberry Surprise was the one he tasted on Runaan’s lips.

**+1.**

“Has Runaan been acting strange to you?”

His companions stopped walking to stare at him.

“No?” said Tiadrin slowly, scratching at the cuffs on the base of her horns. “Why, Ethari? What’s wrong?”

He pursed his lips and continued walking, forcing his friends to follow behind him. “I’m not sure,” he admitted thoughtfully. “He’s been disappearing for varying lengths of time, especially at night. There have been multiple instances where I’ve woken up to find the bed empty, only for him to avoid my questions when he returns hours later.”

“Hm,” said Lain. “Has he told you anything?”

“Just that it’s ‘none of my business’ and I ‘worry too much,’” Ethari grumbled. “Moon above, I’m not sure what’s gotten into him lately. ‘None of my business’? Runaan, we _live_ together.” He was walking faster now, his agitation physically manifesting in quicker steps. "He's a professional assassin and he wonders why I'm worried when he disappears without a trace in the middle of the night. Moon give me patience."

“Could you actually slow down a bit?” called Tiadrin, whose swelling stomach prevented her from moving any quicker than the casual amble of a glowtoad. He offered her a sheepish smile and waited for her to catch up. “Maybe he’s just having a bad day,” she suggested once she’d reached his side.

“Maybe he’s training for a secret mission?” Lain suggested when Ethari shook his head.

Ethari frowned. “It isn’t like Runaan to not mention either of those to me.” He could tell Tiadrin and Lain knew something by the furtive glances they were casting at each other, but he had learned not to read too deeply into their actions. They were loyal friends, but they followed a strange set of rules that not even he could fully comprehend. He sighed again. “I should get back. It’s rather late. Tiadrin, Lain, thank you for accompanying me. Will you get home in one piece?”

“You go on,” Lain said. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t trip on her own feet.”

“It’s not my fault,” Tiadrin complained as Ethari headed home. “You try being coordinated when there’s a baby growing inside you and you can’t even see your feet!”

In the few minutes of blissful silence before he reached the home he and Runaan shared, his mind was whirring with a hurricane of thoughts. In the end, as he caught sight of his front door and the warm glow of the kitchen, he knew he needed to trust his gut, which told him to trust his partner. _Runaan is an elf of habit_ , he reminded himself as he unlocked the door. _He’s a logical, reasonable, mostly predictable elf who doesn’t like surprises. He’s probably just finished sparring_ —

The door swung open to reveal a slightly startled Runaan, whose lack of sweat indicated he had _not_ just finished sparring.

“Oh,” Ethari said, surprised. “Runaan? I thought you were training?”

“I wanted to try something different today,” replied Runaan stiffly. “Come, my heart, sit. I’ve prepared dinner.”

Suspicious. Ethari took a seat at the table, half expecting to wake up from a dream. Runaan passed him a glass of Moonberry wine, the kind they saved exclusively for special occasions. A plate of his favorite roasted vegetables followed.

“What’s this? What’s going on, Runaan?” He narrowed his eyes at his partner seated across from him. He watched, unnerved, as Runaan’s fingers tapped mindlessly against the wood. Since when did Runaan _fidget_?

Something was wrong. Runaan didn’t like deviating from a plan when it came to his personal life. It was his profession to be unexpected as an assassin, but he balanced that unpredictability with a repetitive daily schedule when he was home. Ethari eyed the wine warily, his heart racing to the uneven beat that Runaan was idly tapping on the table.

“Is this some kind of a prank?” Ethari demanded. “Are Tiadrin and Lain in on this?” He looked around the room, as if the other two elves were hiding behind the cabinets and on the ceiling.

“No, no, my love,” Runaan rushed to assure him. “This is not a prank. I thought we could enjoy a nice meal together.”

“With our special occasion wine?”

“Yes.”

“Is today a special occasion?”

“Perhaps.”

“Runaan.”

“Ethari.”

Ethari looked away first. “What is going on? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks and all of a sudden you surprise me with a nice meal? First of all, I thought you didn’t like surprises. Second of all, what is going on?”

Runaan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he was calm. His fingers had stilled and the tension surrounding his body melted away.

“I don’t like surprises,” Runaan agreed patiently. “But I know that you do. You’ve been far too patient with me, Ethari. You know better than anyone else that I’m not one to hide my secrets, especially from you. But I’ve been unfair to you these past few weeks.”

“You have?” Ethari suddenly had no appetite.

“I have. I’ve been working on something that I couldn’t have you seeing until the right time. Tiadrin and Lain helped me with it, of course.”

“What is it?”

From under his coat Runaan produced a small bundle wrapped in soft purple cloth. “This.” He walked it over to Ethari and placed it in his upturned palms.

The smith prided himself on his steady hands, but as he unknotted the purple fabric he could see his fingers trembling, could feel Runaan’s gaze on his face. The last corner of cloth fell away to reveal a set of silver horn cuffs, each inlaid with a turquoise gemstone. He gasped and looked up, tears already welling in his eyes. Runaan, his unwavering, stubborn, unrelenting Runaan, was on one knee.

“This is why I’ve been disappearing at night. I couldn’t exactly make these in the forge while you worked during the day, could I? Forgive me, Ethari, for not answering your questions and for causing you more worry than usual. You’re far too patient with me. But I swear to the Moon I’ll be better if you can forgive me.”

The tears blurred his vision of Runaan. He felt warm thumbs wiping away at the stray drops that fell down his cheeks.

“My love, when you first asked to court me you said you wanted to be a part of my mystery. Now I’m asking if you, moonlight, want to write our mystery together for the rest of our lives.”

A gentle pressure lifted his chin until he was staring into sincere turquoise eyes.

“Ethari, my love, owner of my heart, will you marry me?”

“Moon above,” Ethari whispered hoarsely. “Yes!”

***

The village was on fire. Surely that was why a roar was erupting from outside.

Lain groaned and rolled over, recoiling slightly when his bare feet came in contact with the cold bedroom floor.

“What’s going on?” Tiadrin grumbled, lifting her head from her pillow. Lain stifled a chuckle at her outrageous hair—there was even a piece sticking straight up like a third pointy ear.

“Not sure, moonlight,” he said instead. He crossed the bedroom and cracked one of the shutters. In the middle of the village there was a swarm of elves all clamoring over something of interest. No matter how he tried, he wasn’t able to get a visual on the center of the crowd. “Why’s everyone so excited?”

“They can do whatever they want,” sighed Tiadrin breathily, “as long as they don’t wake up Rayla. She's been kicking me all night and I need my sleep."

Lain hummed in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes on the crowd. Between the shifting bodies he could see two elves at the center, though he couldn't quite make out who it was. The only defining feature he could discern was that one of them was wearing a scarf made of purple fabric. But he didn't know anyone who wore scarves... wait, someone moved out of the way—he blinked rapidly. Was that…?

“No way,” he said with a wide grin. “Really?”

“What?” his wife demanded, sitting back up with a groan of effort. “Lain, what is it?” When he didn’t respond immediately, she threw a pillow at him with surprising accuracy given that her eyes were still closed. “If you’re going to keep me from falling back asleep at least _explain_ what’s going on!”

“Oh, my love,” he responded giddily, “you’re going to want to see this for yourself.”

Because how could he possibly put into words the delight at seeing Runaan— _Runaan_ , of all elves—at the center of the mob, cheeks so flushed that Lain could tell even at this distance he was blushing furiously. By his side was Ethari, and they were _holding hands_. Lain couldn’t believe his eyes. He stared as Runaan gave Ethari a tender smile and nearly cried with joy when Ethari reciprocated by tucking a loose strand of long hair behind Runaan’s ears.

“What in the name of the Moon,” he whispered. “What’s gotten into them?”

As he watched, Ethari lowered his head and pulled his hair aside. He could see the gasp ripple through the crowd, followed by more loud cheering. With the hands waving in the air Lain could not make out what Ethari had shown the mob, but by the proud blush on Runaan’s face it must have been something worthwhile.

“Move,” he muttered snappishly at the crowd as if they could hear him. “I need to see!”

Runaan whispered something in Ethari’s ear and the smith turned to whisper something back, exposing his lopsided hair and his horns—

_No. Way._

“Tiadrin!” Lain shrieked. “Tiadrin, my love, Runaan did it! He gave Ethari the cuffs!”

“ _What!_ ”

In a flash his wife was up, shoving him aside to peer out of their window.

“Ah! Praise the Moon!” She grabbed her husband by the shoulders and shook him enthusiastically. “He did it! Oh, Moon above, _he did it!_ And Ethari said yes!”

“I can’t believe it,” Lain cried, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “And they’re out in the open! _Together!_ Ethari is corrupting our Runaan with his warmth.”

“Oh Runaan,” Tiadrin murmured softly, idly squeezing her husband’s hand. “You’ve grown so much.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me now,” Lain warned her. “We have _so_ much teasing to do.”

His wife grinned and pulled him into a slow kiss. “And miss the chance to publicly embarrass them at their wedding? I would _never_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been so fascinated by Runaan and Ethari's relationship ever since I watched season 3!! There's not enough elf husband fics so here's this one to add to the void in my heart. My sincerest apologies for my depictions of weapons-- I know nothing about swords except that they're usually pointy on one end and sharp everywhere else :)
> 
> (hey this is my first fic!! nice)
> 
>  _come say hi on[tumblr](https://toesalignedarch.tumblr.com/)!_ :)


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